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Ollie Dabbous’s Hide is big (174 covers, three floors), ambitious (“Hello, Michelin!”) and beautiful. The name is also clearly ironic given its corner site on the north side of Piccadilly, overlooking Green Park.

Seated at my table in front of a floor-to-ceiling window waiting for my guest, G G – the suitably fabulous shoe designer – there is, quite literally, nowhere to hide; the window-cum-screen frames both me and the commuter-hour dramas playing out below.

And it could so easily feel a bit wrong, too – this get-me-and-my-fabulous-life-up-here-on-top-of-the-world vibe. Yet, miraculously, Hide’s confidence isn’t to be confused with Sexy Fish swaggery or Park Chinois smuggery. Before we get anywhere near the food I am made to feel relaxed and comfortable. Some feat, frankly, because even though today I’m on the inside at Hide Above, I’m just a tourist, too.

Hide will need to pay its way: rumour has it that the operation has cost £20 million thus far

For some guests, the food will be yet another Instagrammable ingredient in yet another shiny evening. Dabbous and business partner Yevgeny Chichvarkin (the so-called “Willy Wonka of Wine” and owner of the extraordinary Hedonism) have clearly recognised that an experiential something-for-almost-everyone offer – à la carte breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea and dinner at Hide Ground, cocktails at the Hide Below bar, plus several private dining rooms, seating from 40-20 – is the way forward for clever high-end dining. And Hide will need to pay its way: rumour has it that the operation has cost £20 million thus far.

So, having established that in all its creamy woodiness (the staircase is a stunner), yet with a total absence of bling, Hide looks gorgeous, maybe the food is worth a mention? Hide Above offers a £95 eight-course (10 if you opt for the Cornish fish courses) tasting menu, with a cheaper one at lunchtime. Wine pairings are £65 for the Classic, £115 for the Discovery and £295 for the Hedonistic. Oenophiles can order wines that will need to breathe in advance from the Hedonism cellars. As well as a paper list, there is an iPad in a drawer at each table, enabling you to search Hedonism’s digi-cellar; they’ll deliver to your table within 10 minutes. I’ve never made a single glass (of lovely 2014 margaux) last as long.

Hat's the way I like it: the 'beret-like lid' of 'Nest Egg' at Hide

First up foodwise: a plate of Lilliputian veg, skewers of cold meats ("flesh and bone") plus the bread basket of the gods with an accompanying tornado-shaped swirl of edible-by-itself butter, clearly hand-churned by St Brigid* herself. Onwards, via avocado chunklets embraced by celeriac, then gorgeous mini cubes of raw red tuna and caviar with wasabi leaves, followed by an open-topped egg containing a softly scrambled smoky-mushroomy melange nestled in hay. Fans will recognise this as a Dabbous classic (circa 2012), from Hide’s eponymous predecessor. It looks like a Toast Topper but G G was delighted by her “luxury eggy dip-dip thing in its little black clay-like pot, topped with a stylish black beret-like lid. When our servers whipped it off to reveal a smoky nest, I loved that drama”.

Then things moved up a gear: G G’s roast king crab, turnips, camomile honey and salted butter was pronounced “amazing” while my firmly meaty steamed turbot and its delicate crushed nasturtium broth was a beautiful (con)textural balance. So delighted was I by the slices of slow roast goose with birch sap and crisped kale – over which a smear of miso drop-kicked an already-great dish through my metaphorical goalposts to make it the best single dish I’ve eaten in over a year – that G G’s Herdwick lamb and charred asparagus had gone before I’d noticed.

And the “garden ripple” green sheep’s-milk ice cream, which arrived on a large transparent ice brick containing frozen flowers, was the prettiest thing I’ve, arguably, ever eaten, (G G actually licked her brick). Throughout dinner, we both had questions. G G wanted to know who had designed the staff uniforms – linen aprons and leg-of-mutton sleeved blouses for the ladies. Unexpected answer: Dabbous’s mum. And from me: “Does the melting brick get used more than once?” (Yes. It is cleaned and refrozen and replaced after four days).

It takes a special kind of genius to create a magnificent space like this and then to bring it alive with warmth and inclusivity from the off

We bypassed cheese (another £12) and coffee. My jasmine and wild peaflower religieuse was merely exceptionally pleasant until I took a slug of the accompanying cold-brew jasmine tea, which turned it into a tiny Hallelujah Chorus. Meanwhile, G G was whelmed by her coconut Alaska. Finally, the arrival of a pair of gilded skewers of marshmallowy liquorice was as if somebody knew they were cooking for ladies in their (ahem) 50s.

Brick-lickin' eats: 'garden ripple ice cream' at Hide

It takes a special kind of genius to create a magnificent space like this and then to bring it alive with warmth and inclusivity from the off. Enabling guests to belong is such a powerful part of the DNA of great restaurants: I only had to glance at the mix of unself-conscious couples executing selfies, groups of young men, families, older couples, all of them smiling, to see that Hide had already succeeded.

While I’ll never be able to afford to eat Above again, I’d happily keep my feet on the Ground and return in a heartbeat for breakfast at £25. Ultimately, despite the alleged big spend, even beyond the fine food and wine, Hide is perhaps most notable for its zeitgeist-surfing lightness of touch – something to which any restaurant can aspire, and which costs nothing.